Point Of It All
by Amynion
Summary: Even the strongest of friendships can fray and tear along the way.
1. Chapter 1

**Note**: Quotes and title from Amanda Palmer's "Point Of It All". I need to stop listening to music. It makes me write things.

* * *

**Point Of It All**

**Chapter One**

_Oh, what a noble, distinguished collection  
Of fine little friends you have made  
Hitting the tables without you again  
No we'll wait, no we promise, we'll wait_

"Perhaps it's for the best. You didn't love her, did you?" Athos gave Aramis a questioning look over the rim of his glass.

Marguerite had chosen to end their little affair. If he was being truthful, Aramis would miss the opportunity to see his son more than the woman he professed to care so much for. But it cut him up to admit the fact. He gave so much of himself to the women he loved, he _never_ treated them as notches on his bedpost. Yet here he was seducing an innocent party to get at his son. It cheapened everything.

Aramis looked away, pointedly not answering Athos' question.

"Come now, Aramis. You and I both know why you chose her out of all the women in Paris. What happened to keeping your distance?"

"Would you be able to? Knowing he was right _there_…"

"Yes, because I've got a modicum of self control. Unlike you." Athos leaned forwards to pour them both another glass of wine. "But this is not the place for such talk."

"No…" Aramis took the glass up and knocked back a mouthful.

"There'll be somebody else. There always is."

But there was only one woman he wanted to be with, and he might as well have fallen for a unicorn. Their love was impossible, it was forbidden. Aramis had dalliances with other men's wives, but when the man in question was the king it made everything a lot more lethal. Still, he couldn't help loving who he loved. Every other woman Aramis took to bed felt like a deception. Instead of affection, he gave lies. Each kiss and caress would be the most wonderful fiction…

A roar from Porthos' table broke Aramis from his thoughts. The man himself came over shortly afterwards, grinning broadly and followed behind by a rather more subdued d'Artagnan.

"Another bottle of wine my friends?"

"I take it you won then?" Athos said with a half smile.

"He cleaned us all out." d'Artagnan muttered sullenly.

"Well, at least he's being generous with his winnings, hm?"

As Porthos called out for more wine one of the men he had been playing with passed by and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Porthos! I demand a rematch tomorrow night." The action was friendly enough. It was one of their musketeer compatriots, an amiable man named Duval.

"Of course, I will happily lighten your purse a little more!" Porthos picked up the wine bottle in a salute to the gracious loser.

**~oOo~**

It was a few days later when Aramis made his way to the tavern in a terribly sullen mood. He had tried to speak to Marguerite to clear the air between them, but she wouldn't even see him. As he stood at the door to her chambers, one of the ladies in waiting blocked the way and insisted he leave. In the end Aramis gave up and turned away. The door slammed at his back, and the wail of an unsettled babe broke the air a moment later. It tore his heart to pieces.

Aramis really didn't feel like merry making at the tavern. All the raucous bellowing and laughter made for an atmosphere he would endure rather than enjoy. On his arrival Porthos tried to put an arm around his shoulders, but it was brushed off with a muttered excuse. The man already had a few drinks down him and he was grinning like an idiot. Instead Aramis slipped into a seat by Athos, while Porthos went to join a game of cards with d'Artagnan, Duval and a few others. Athos was partially slumped across the table. If he seemed a little more drunk than usual Aramis wasn't going to mention it. In fact, he wasn't going to mention anything. Athos was a man of few words and he looked quite beyond conversation anyway. Aramis simply pulled the bottle of wine from Athos' lax grip and poured himself a glass, content to join his friend in drowning their sorrows away.

By the time Porthos and d'Artagnan joined their table again Aramis was finding it a little hard to focus. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to realise Duval had joined them, and it was a few moments more before he recalled the man's name.

Porthos was saying something to him. He supposed he should try to listen.

"Remember Lucie De Foix?"

"Hm?" Aramis tried to push himself up a little straighter and look somewhat attentive.

"I'm thinking of tracking her down. I'd like to ask her a few questions."

At that Duval gave Porthos a dig in the ribs with his elbow. "I bet you would, you old dog!"

Porthos laughed at the insinuation. "Not like that! I'm hoping she might know something about her brother, and whatever secret Treville is sitting on."

Before Aramis could get his sluggish tongue to answer, Duval chipped in.

"I might be of some assistance there. The other week I was on guard duty at the palace when the beautiful Lucie De Foix walked in to court."

"Steady on there. d'Artagnan, didn't you say she kissed you?" Something mischievous twinkled in Porthos' eye.

An indignant sound came from the lad. "I said she kissed me in front of Constance, and nothing good came of it!"

Duval clapped the lad on his shoulder. "Well if there's nothing going on between you two, I shall continue to call her beautiful, and anything else I fancy!"

Something in Aramis bristled at that, but the others laughed.

"Well go on man! What is it? You're as bad as Aramis, getting distracted by beautiful women." Porthos shot him a grin, but it died on seeing Aramis' frown.

"As I was saying, the radiant Lucie was seen by the king and queen. With her brother's death she was made a ward of the Comte de la Capelle, an old family friend from what I heard. I don't know if she intends to stay in Paris or return to his lands, but I'll help you make enquiries if you wish?"

"Oh I can see through you like a pane of glass Duval. You really are as bad as Aramis!" Porthos laughed loudly.

"Only trying to help a friend in need!"

Aramis' frown deepened. He felt like the conversation was going on all around him and there were jokes at his expense.

And then there was a thud as Athos' head finally hit the table.

d'Artagnan was straight on his feet and at Athos' side a moment later. "I think I'd better take him home…"

Aramis watched the two of them weave their way to the door, and then his attention was back on Porthos and Duval. They spoke between themselves in lower voices now, Aramis couldn't keep track of what they were saying. Eventually he tired of it and longed for bed, he stumbled to his feet and leaned heavily against the table.

"I'm off…"

Porthos just looked up at him. "Night Aramis."

Duval gave a tip of his non-existant hat, and then they were back to their conversation.

Aramis wavered a moment before making his way home alone.

**~oOo~**

It was a week or so later when Aramis sat watching the others sparring. He was cleaning his guns meticulously while Athos crossed swords with d'Artagnan and Porthos traded blows with Duval. Eventually the latter broke apart and Porthos came to sit with Aramis, he was panting hard and sweating with the exertion.

"Did you win?" Aramis asked flatly, more taken with the cloth and pistol beneath his hands.

"No… but once he comes back for some more action I'll challenge him to hand to hand - and then I'll win."

Aramis exhaled an amused huff of breath.

Porthos suddenly turned serious, though there was an excited undercurrent to his words. "You know, I managed to find Lucie, well Duval did really, but I spoke with her."

"And?"

"She's not sure of anything herself, but the General used to write letters to an old friend he served with."

"Not Treville?"

"No, not him, though I'm sure Treville must have known him - A man named Vidal. If Treville won't talk, maybe he will."

Aramis' hands stilled on the pistol, he looked up at Porthos. "What will you do?"

"Go to see him. He lives somewhere near Amiens."

"You'll need to get leave…" Aramis pointed out warily.

"I know, and I won't be able to tell Treville why I'm going or who I'm going to see." Porthos sighed. "I'll think of something. Anyway, I wanted to ask if you would come with me?"

Porthos looked at him so hopefully. There was no question of him refusing.

"Of course, well… if you can manage to wangle leave for both of us that is."

As it happened Porthos managed to secure leave for a few weeks later. He told Treville he had to run an errand for Madame Clerbeaux regarding a personal matter. The Captain hadn't asked too many questions. He considered it impolite to pry into the affairs of a lady.

**~oOo~**

"Careful Athos…" Aramis hissed in pain.

"Do you want me to fetch a physician?"

No, he most certainly did not…

They had been pursuing a thief through the marketplace when Aramis turned too sharply and went over on his ankle. Athos had brought him back to a sick room in the garrison while Porthos and d'Artagnan carried on the chase. He considered it downright embarrassing. Injuries in this line of work were fairly common, but they were usually caused by something a little more heroic than falling over your own feet.

"No… no, I don't think it's broken."

"You don't _think_?" Athos raised an eyebrow while he continued tugging at Aramis' boot. The joint was swelling and it did not want to come off.

Aramis swore and writhed on the bed at Athos' persistent pulling. Eventually it came off and the air turned blue with colourful language. They both looked down at the injured limb. It was nicely swollen and already starting to bruise.

"I'd better tell Treville you're going to be off duty for some time."

Aramis made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat before throwing himself back on the bed.

"Is there anything I can get you?"

Aramis sighed before answering. "Something to read if I'm to be stuck here… and I don't need to see a physician, but if you would ask one for a salve made up of wolfsbane I would appreciate it."

It was some time later when Athos returned with the salve and a couple of books. He placed them on the bedside table and handed the salve to Aramis.

"Did they catch the thief?" Aramis asked, while delicately rubbing the wolfsbane into his injured limb.

"I don't know, I haven't seen them to ask." Athos settled down into a chair beside the bed. He'd brought a bottle of wine for himself.

Aramis hoped Porthos and d'Artagnan hadn't come to harm. But he needn't have worried, Porthos slipped into the room shortly after.

"Did you get him?" Aramis asked the instant he appeared.

"Yeah, 'course we did. d'Artagnan's just finishing up with him at the prison. Thought I'd get away and see how you are." Porthos wandered to the end of the bed and hissed in sympathy at Aramis' swollen ankle. "Looks painful."

"It is." Aramis managed a wan smile.

"Watch where you put your feet next time, won't you?"

"I think I'll leave the chasing to you entirely."

After a while they rose to leave - Porthos had arranged to meet with Lucie, and Athos most likely had an appointment with a few more bottles of wine. Aramis asked him to leave the remains of the one he'd brought. Aramis would be needing it.

**~oOo~**

Aramis passed the days varying between frustration and depression. He wasn't one to enjoy inactivity at the best of times, and the pain of his ankle was a constant throb. When Aramis tired of reading he was left with his thoughts, and they inevitably turned to Anne and his child. The love he could never have and the child he would never know. There was nothing but pain to be had there.

The only bright points to his day were the visits of his friends. But there was still something amiss… Whenever one of them was injured the other three all gathered at their bedside, drinking, laughing, playing cards. It was as if the tavern had moved to the sick room. Now they came one at a time, never stopping for long. Athos often visited with bottles of wine and a new book. When Aramis asked after the other two he was told Porthos was visiting Lucie or with Duval, and d'Artagnan was taken with Constance. When d'Artagnan came by he said Athos had crawled inside a bottle and insinuated Milady being back was weighing on him. Of course, Athos being Athos he hadn't said a word about it to Aramis.

Taking a leaf out of his friend's book Aramis just drank to numb the pain. He couldn't wait to be back on his feet again.

Eventually the time came when the frustration became too much. Aramis had been limping around the room and had made it down to the garrison courtyard a couple of times. It hurt like hell, but the tavern wasn't much further really. He was convinced he could make it.

Step by painful step Aramis haltingly walked his way to the tavern. Once or twice he had to stop to lean against the wall of a building and get the weight off his injured limb. But he was determined to get there. When Aramis finally reached the door of the tavern he was sweating buckets. He felt like he'd run a mile. But he couldn't help but smile as he pushed it open. The oh so familiar scent of alcohol and smoke hit Aramis as he stepped inside, but his eyes searched for their usual table to find the corner empty.

Taken aback for a moment, Aramis looked about the tavern. He found his friends across the room, seated around a table laughing and playing cards. Even Athos had been lured from his corner and wore a half smile - that was practically giddy by Athos' standard. Aramis wasn't surprised to see Duval with them. An unpleasant feeling unfurled in his chest. It was something like hatred… but Aramis reasoned he couldn't hate Duval, he barely knew the man.

In any case, Aramis' good mood had suddenly died. The others seemed to be enjoying themselves without him, and so Aramis secured a bottle of wine and limped painfully towards Athos' old seat. Ensconced in the corner he set about drinking and tried to ignore the frequent bursts of laughter from the other table. Idly, he wondered how long it might take them to notice him. After another bottle, he didn't particularly care.

"Aramis?"

A hand shook him gently. Aramis picked his head up from the table and tried to blink the world back into focus.

"How did you get here?"

Ah, so they had noticed him then… Well, d'Artagnan had at least.

"Where are…" Aramis didn't manage to ask the rest of his question, but d'Artagnan seemed to get the gist.

"They've gone home, it's getting late. You didn't walk all the way here did you?"

Aramis gave a nod.

"I didn't think you were supposed to be putting weight on that leg yet." The lad had a way to go before he could sound as authoritative as Athos.

"m'fine… can walk."

"You didn't look like it last time I saw you try."

"I can walk." Aramis did his best to glare at d'Artagnan. "... can walk better than _you_ can walk."

d'Artagnan held up his hands. "If you insist. But I don't think that's true tonight, let's get you back, hm?"

Aramis stared at d'Artagnan fuzzily for a moment before holding out an arm for him to grab. The two of them lurched out of the tavern and back towards the garrison. Their journey back was anything but graceful. At least the alcohol had gone a long way to numbing the pain of Aramis' ankle. He was stumbling along on it without much of a care. The bigger problem was the ground - it had become most uneven, pitching this way and that, determined to trip him up. Thankfully d'Artagnan was a steady presence at his side. The lad got him back in bed in one piece. Just before Aramis drifted off he heard d'Artagnan mention they would be back at the tavern tomorrow night. He would have to go again. The wine had been most pleasant.

However, it wasn't all that pleasant the morning after. Aramis woke, as he always did, to the feeling that he was being repeatedly stabbed in the joint of his ankle. But he also had a fierce headache and his mouth felt like something had died in it. Still, he wasn't deterred. That night he hobbled along to the tavern again. For a moment hope flickered in his heart. They knew he would be there, surely d'Artagnan…

The hope in his heart quickly died. The table was empty, and they were nowhere to be seen.

Aramis asked a few familiar faces if they knew where Porthos and the others had gone. That ugly hateful feeling reared its head again at the answer… They had retired early to Duval's lodgings. Aramis clenched his fists. He had half a mind to turn up there, but he didn't know where the man lived. Instead he turned around and went back the way he had come. Each step hurt, but the pain merely fueled his anger.

**~oOo~**

It was another week before Aramis could walk well enough to conceal his limp. The swelling had gone down some, though his ankle and foot were still bruised, and it stiffened terribly overnight. His boot lent the limb some stability, and getting a handle on the pain let him walk along fairly well without faltering. In any case, he just needed to get to Treville's office and solicit a mission from the Captain. He couldn't stand being cooped up any longer, and the sporadic visits of his friends brought bitterness rather than joy.

Treville turned a skeptical eye on Aramis, but he insisted he was fit enough for a mission. In the end he was given something easy to do - deliver a package to a contact in Rouen. It was the sort of task a raw recruit would be entrusted to do alone. Even so, Treville told Aramis he was to take Porthos with him. When he started to protest the Captain made it clear in no uncertain terms that it was a choice between taking Porthos or going back to bed. That gained Aramis' begrudging assent.

He very carefully made his way down the stairs to find Athos and d'Artagnan sparring in the courtyard. Athos caught sight of Aramis and merely raised an eyebrow at seeing him up and about.

d'Artagnan threw one last thrust before pausing and turning to Aramis. "Where are you off to?"

Aramis sat down at the bench, trying not to make his relief too obvious. "I'm taking a package to Rouen. Have you seen Porthos?"

"Are you sure you're up to it?" Athos nodded down at his leg.

"I'll manage. Now have you seen him or not? He's supposed to go with me." The pain was perhaps making him sound a little more short than he meant to.

Athos seemed to hesitate before answering. "I believe he and Duval went to visit Lucie de Foix."

Aramis pursed his lips. Of course that's where Porthos would be…

"I don't know when he'll be back. I'm sorry." Athos looked at him with something approaching sympathy.

"Well, I'm not going to wait. I'll see you later gentlemen." Aramis got to his feet and tried to stride across to the stables without letting his steps falter.

"I can come in his stead, if you give me a moment-"

Aramis cut Athos off abruptly. "No, I don't need you. I'll manage."

And so Aramis undertook the journey alone. At first it was a relief to be on a horse and off his feet, but keeping his ankle immobile in the stirrup for so long made it stiff. The feeling of being stabbed repeatedly returned fourfold. Aramis had intended to stay on the road and make camp when darkness fell, but as he passed an inn the thought of a chair and a good meal was too tempting. Dismounting was a nightmare though. Aramis tried to slither off the back of his horse as carefully as he could, but he still hit the ground with some impact. It brought tears to his eyes and he had to hold on to the saddle for a moment, trusting his horse to keep him upright.

On setting out again the sky clouded over and a fine drizzle settled in for the duration. Aramis pulled his cloak a little tighter about his shoulders. It was the sort of rain that didn't look too bad, but wet you through entirely. The weather suited his mood. With nobody to talk to the darkest of Aramis' thoughts came to the forefront of his mind. He dwelt on the pain of his son… the son he could never acknowledge as his own. The son he would watch grow from afar. Aramis would be nothing more to the boy than a subject, a soldier, a common man. He wanted to be so much more. He wanted to put his arms around Anne again too. All he had were memories of their night together, and though he held onto them dearly he knew the touch of her lips and each gentle caress would fade eventually. Every other woman was a poor substitute. Following that thought inevitably led to Marguerite. Aramis cursed himself for what he had done. She wasn't Anne, but she deserved to love somebody who loved her in return. Marguerite knew he didn't feel that way about her. She thought he was with her simply for one thing. It was true in a way... It just wasn't the one thing Marguerite expected.

Aramis cursed as the rain came down a little harder. He tried to drag his thoughts away from matters of the heart. For one last moment he wondered if Anne thought as about him as much as he thought about her, and then he let it go… But his thoughts didn't settle on anything happier. They came to circle around the situation with his friends. He felt he was drifting apart from them, and it pained him just as much. d'Artagnan seemed occupied with Constance, or Athos, who was falling into his bottle a little too much of late. He seemed to have been confiding in the lad a little anyway, even if it hurt to think he wouldn't speak to Aramis. As for Porthos, he was chasing Lucie de Foix, or spending time with his new friend, Duval. Sometimes both at the same time by the sounds of it. Aramis' fists tightened on the reins thinking of Duval. He couldn't shake the feeling he was being replaced. Hatred blossomed in his heart, even as he tried to reject it the barbs took root. Aramis couldn't make sense of it all. It would be easier if there was something to hate about Duval, but there wasn't. He was a perfectly amiable and honourable gentleman, as quick to laugh and love as Aramis. For a moment Aramis mused on the fact he might hate the man because he saw a reflection of himself…

Aramis' horse gave a fierce shake, sending up a spray of raindrops and startling the man from his thoughts. He gave the horse a pat on the withers, neither one of them was enjoying this weather. They had slowed down some as the road deteriorated beneath their feet. The ground here was higher and rocky protrusions littered the grass either side of the road.

Suddenly a shout came from behind.

"Aramis!"

He twisted around to see a figure riding up fast. Aramis had half a mind to ride off, but he didn't want to risk the horse's legs going at speed on rutted ground.

The figure drew up alongside him and he turned to see Porthos peering out from under the wide brim of his hat.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was supposed to come with you. That's what Athos said anyway."

Aramis bristled. "I don't need you, I don't need a keeper."

"I'm not here to keep you." Porthos sounded dejected.

"Then why are you here? This is a simple errand to run. Wouldn't your time be better spent with Lucie, or your new friend, Duval?" Aramis couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice.

"What do you mean by that?" A note of irritation had crept in.

"I mean, you seem to be enjoying your time with them of late. Have you forgotten your old friends?" Aramis bit back.

"I've forgotten nobody!"

"Well you sure as hell fooled me!" The spark of anger had lit in his heart. "Where have you been? Where were you when I needed you?"

"I was right here! But you weren't." Porthos growled. "I don't know what's going on with you, but you're not the Aramis I know. You've pushed me away and you brood in the corner as bad as Athos, if not worse! You won't talk to me, but at least I cared... You don't, do you? Have you even asked once? You don't give a damn what I'm going through!"

"You cared? What a strange way of showing it!"

"And here we go again! You only care about yourself, not a thought for anybody else!"

"I thi-" For one fleeting moment Aramis almost spoke of the others he had been thinking about… his son, Anne, Marguerite. But he couldn't. "I don't need you any more Porthos. Go home."

With that Aramis turned his horse off the road to ride across the grass. He gave little thought to the safety of himself or his horse. He just wanted to get away from Porthos. He was in danger of saying something he couldn't take back.

"Aramis! Slow down!" Porthos yelled behind him.

Aramis shot a quick look over his shoulder to see Porthos had given chase and was gaining ground rapidly. They didn't manage to get much further before there was a shout. Aramis pulled his horse up and turned about to find Porthos lying on the ground out cold. Porthos' mount looked as if it had tripped or slipped, now having gained its footing he wandered to look down at his rider. Aramis swore and made his way over. He near threw himself off his own horse, swearing a little more as it jarred his ankle. A quick examination revealed an abrasion to Porthos' temple, winding around the outside of his eye, leading to a gash running down his cheek. It seeped blood. Aramis dug through his pockets and pulled out a handkerchief to press against the wound. Just to his side lay a prominent rock - so that had been the cause.

"Porthos?" Aramis shook the man forcefully. "Porthos, wake up."

There was no response.

"Porthos, I need to get you up. Let's get out of this rain…"

Still nothing.

Aramis looked around at the various rocky protrusions. There was one not far away with enough of an overhang to shelter under.

"Please Porthos, wake up…"

Aramis tried one last time before pulling the man's arm over his shoulder and struggling to his feet. He grit his teeth against the pain in his ankle. Aramis found it hard enough bearing his own weight, let alone that of Porthos as well. He stumbled slowly, dragging Porthos over to the rock inch by inch. When finally Aramis collapsed beneath the overhang he found his eyes had been streaming with tears, though it was hard to tell them apart from the rain on his cheeks.

He wasn't done. He still had to fetch the horses.

Now it felt like a fiery poker was being thrust into his ankle. Aramis bit his lip and whined with every step. Whatever progress he had made seemed to have come undone. He grabbed the reins of their horses and leaned heavily against one as he led them over to their shelter. There wasn't much to secure the horses to, apart from a bit of brush. Aramis hoped it would be enough, musketeer horses were usually well trained enough not to go wandering.

Aramis retrieved his sewing kit from one of the saddlebags before limping back to Porthos' side. He took a moment to gather himself and breathe through the agony of his aching limb, and then he pulled the kit onto his lap. Carefully he unfolded it and leaned back against the hard rock. It dug into him uncomfortably, but what was one more discomfort? Aramis looked down at Porthos and felt sick at the harsh words that had passed between them. Then he looked out at the grey land and the relentless rain, feeling his heart fall into his feet. Slowly Aramis pulled out a needle and tried to steady his hands to thread it.

Was Porthos right? Was this his fault?

The thread slipped through the eye of the needle, and Aramis held it up between his hands, letting it dangle before his face. He looked past it, absorbed by the hiss of the rain.

And then he set to sewing Porthos together again, like he always did.

_But you've got the needle  
I guess that's the point of it all_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_And you're learning that just 'cause they call  
Themselves friends, doesn't mean they'll call_

"I'm calling a physician. I don't care what you say."

"I don't need one!" Aramis' fists were tight in the bedsheets. His pale drawn face gave away the pain that he was in.

Once Porthos had been sewn up Aramis made his way back to the road and managed to get help from a passer by. Now Aramis found himself back in that accursed sick room again.

"You can't keep that boot on forever." Athos said pointedly.

Every touch of it had brought the most dreadful pain, he wouldn't let Athos tug at it again.

Athos continued. "Besides, a physician will come for Porthos, he might as well look at you."

Aramis sat up. "Has he woken?"

"Not yet, but he has stirred a little. I'm hopeful it won't be much longer."

In the end they had to cut the boot away from Aramis' foot. He was most aggrieved, he was quite fond of those boots. Beneath it the ankle looked worse than it did when Aramis first injured it. He was instructed to stay off it, and thankfully the physician left a tincture of pain medication. Athos gave him a dose and left to see Porthos. It gave the world a slightly blurred quality… Aramis lay down and sank into the sort of peace he felt from a few glasses of wine. Before he drifted away he spared a thought for Porthos, hopefully the man would wake soon so they could clear the air.

When Aramis woke again he was alone. He reached to the bedside table and managed to snag the tincture for a sip.

Porthos' words echoed through his head.

… _You don't give a damn what I'm going through… _

… _You only care about yourself, not a thought for anybody else… _

Was he to blame for it all? Had he been so wrapped up in himself he was blind to the troubles of his friends? Aramis looked around the empty room and felt his heart drop. Where were they all then? If any of them cared about him. Where were they? Probably at Porthos' bedside, Duval most certainly… The thought of Duval set Aramis seething again. He reached for a book and tried to drown out his miserable thoughts with some fiction.

**~oOo~**

It was a couple of days later when Porthos came to see him.

"How's the leg?" Porthos smiled as he sat down.

"Probably hurting about as much as your head."

"At least I'll stay pretty." Porthos fingered the stitches along his cheek. "Nice work, as always."

Aramis gave an amused huff of breath.

He wondered how to broach the painful subject of their argument. In the end he settled for getting straight into it. "About what you said…"

"What did I say?" Porthos' brow furrowed.

Aramis frowned in confusion. "When you caught up to me... don't you remember?"

"All I remember is riding out after you, and then waking up to Athos' ugly face hanging over me." Porthos smiled uncertainly. "So, what did I say?"

"Nothing, it doesn't matter."

Porthos looked at him warily for a moment. "No doubt it was something witty, profound, and wise."

"Not all of them, no…" In fact, it had been painful, hurtful, and dispiriting. But if Porthos couldn't remember, what was the point in bringing it up?

They passed a little time in awkward conversation. Aramis wondered when this had all become so hard. And then Porthos went to rise.

"I'm off to see Lucie, she's got a letter back from Vidal. I'm hoping he'll be consenting to our visit."

"Oh…" The visit to Amiens. Aramis had almost forgotten.

"Make sure you stay off that leg." Porthos pointed at him and moments later he was gone.

So much for clearing the air. It remained as murky as ever. Aramis felt like they were back at square one. He was stuck in this room, alone, while Porthos courted his new friends. Goodness knows where Athos and d'Artagnan were. They weren't here, and that's all that mattered.

**~oOo~**

Aramis was in a drug induced stupor when Porthos next paid a visit. He couldn't really follow what was being said. He didn't really care.

The next thing he knew Athos was slapping his face.

"How much did you take?"

Aramis shrugged half heartedly.

"Too much I warrant... you fool. Do you really need me to ration out your doses? I thought you were the one with medical knowledge."

"It takes the pain away…" He muttered.

"And your wits as well." Finally the world coalesced around Athos' sour face.

"Leave me alone." Aramis sighed, tiredly.

He expected Athos to argue… to fight…

"As you wish."

He left.

**~oOo~**

It felt like the longest time before he saw anybody again. d'Artagnan came by with a bible and placed it on the small stack of books by his bedside.

"Thought you might like this."

"Thank you… d'Artagnan, where is everybody?" Aramis pushed himself upright with a wince.

"Porthos has gone to Amiens, didn't you know?"

Aramis looked surprised and then his face fell. "I was supposed to go with him… I guess I can't now." He threw a tired hand out to indicate his leg and sighed.

"He'll be alright, Duval and Lucie have gone with him."

That made Aramis feel sick. So his replacement had gone in his stead. How fitting.

d'Artagnan continued. "As for Athos, he'll be at the tavern drowning himself in a bottle. Speaking of, I'd better go and try to pull him out. Take care of yourself Aramis."

He went to the door and paused on hearing Aramis call his name.

"d'Artagnan." Aramis looked at him with an expression half hurt and half hopeful. "Thank you... for coming I mean."

"Don't mention it." The lad gave a small smile before leaving.

**~oOo~**

One night Aramis awoke to a terrible commotion outside. People thumped up and down the floorboards, voices yelled out, and he was sure he heard muffled shouts of pain. His own pain set in, drowning out all else for a moment. Waking was always the worst part. After his ankle had been still all night it stiffened up terribly. Aramis' first tendrils of wakefulness were marred by it, he couldn't drift peacefully to consciousness, the only sensation that immediately grabbed his attention was pain.

Aramis snatched at the tincture on his bedside table and swallowed a mouthful. He listened to the noise outside while he lay there, waiting for the medication to take effect. Eventually the ruckus died down and an ominous silence took its place. What was going on? Why hadn't anybody come in to tell him what had happened? Well, if nobody was going to tell him, he would have to find out for himself.

With a hiss Aramis pushed himself up and eased his legs off the bed. There was the familiar hot poker torturing him, but he pushed past it to lurch to the door. On wrenching it open Aramis found the passageway outside deserted. He peered down to the other end where there was another door slightly ajar. Perhaps that was where all of the action had centred… Tentatively Aramis let go of the door and limped out to lean heavily against the wall. He only managed a few more steps before his leg buckled beneath him. Aramis fell down to his hands and knees, he growled and punched a fist against the floor with frustration. For a moment he let his head hang down in defeat, but it quickly shot up again at hearing his name.

"Aramis? What are you doing out of bed?"

He managed to twist and look over his shoulder. Athos stood there with a bucket of water. His hands were stained with blood.

"What happened?" Aramis focussed fearfully on the blood.

"Let's get you back to your room." Athos put the bucket down to one side and went to help Aramis up.

"_Athos_, what happened?" Aramis asked again.

They were at his door before Athos opened his mouth to answer.

"They were attacked en route to Amiens…" Athos opened the door and made to guide Aramis inside, but Aramis stopped them.

"And? Is Porthos alright?" He asked, shocked.

"He was shot."

Aramis twisted around, trying to get back to the corridor. "Let me see him! Athos, get off me!"

But Athos held him firmly. "Not yet, the physician is sewing him up. The shot went clean through the meat of his arm. He'll be fine, he's just lost quite a bit of blood…"

Aramis sagged a little in relief at hearing Porthos would be alright. Athos took the opportunity to manhandle him over to the bed. He perched on the edge, looking up at Athos.

"Why didn't anybody come to tell me?" A shadow darkened Aramis' features and his voice turned bitter. "If it were Duval sitting in here I'm sure he'd be the first to know."

"Duval is dead."

Aramis felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He stared up at Athos in disbelief. "Dead?"

"He took a shot to the chest, it damaged his lung. There was nothing to be done…"

Aramis suddenly felt terrible. For all the hatred he had kindled over the man, Duval had done nothing wrong. He had done nothing but be a friend to Porthos… From Porthos' painful, forgotten words, he felt Aramis had been lacking in that role recently.

"And Lucie?"

"She is fine, from what I gather Duval pushed her aside and took the shot meant for her."

Aramis felt sick.

"I should go, they'll be waiting for that water." Athos turned to push the door open.

"Tell Porthos-" Before Aramis finished, the door closed, and his words went unheard. "... I'm sorry."

**~oOo~**

As Aramis lay there he turned everything over in his head, around and around it went. Love, drifting friendships and death. What was the point of it all?

When the first light of morning crept through Aramis' window he made the decision to confront them all. He took a sip of the tincture and made a vow to crawl down the passageway on his hands and knees if necessary. It was slow going, but eventually he reached the door. Aramis pushed it open and nearly fell through. d'Artagnan and Athos were surprised to see him, Porthos looked over blearily from his position lying prone on the bed.

d'Artagnan immediately shot up from his bedside chair and helped Aramis over to it. As soon as he was seated he reached for Porthos' hand. The physician's sewing kit on the bedside table caught his eye… He had some sewing of another kind to do now.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I'm so sorry…"

Porthos blinked heavily. "What for?"

"For not being there for you, for not letting you in, for _everything_. I've been so wrapped up in my own head I haven't been much of a friend of late."

A smile battled its way to Porthos' face. "I know… there's something bothering you, I should have understood… Don't have to talk about it if you don't want, but I'm here…"

And he wanted to talk about it. He wanted to talk about it _so badly_, but he couldn't…

Aramis squeezed Porthos' hand gently. "I'll try to do better, I can only promise you I'll try…" He swallowed heavily. "I'm sorry about Duval."

The smile fell away. "He was a good man… he didn't deserve to die."

"Those who pass rarely do." Aramis sighed, thinking on the friends they had lost along the way.

"I'll have to organise a collection for his family…"

"I'll gladly put towards it." When it came to Duval Aramis had let a blind hatred mar his heart. Now he saw how wrong he had been. He wanted to make amends in any way he could.

Aramis sat back and let his eyes wander to Athos. The man was leaning against the wall, watching proceedings with his usual frown.

"I feel I owe you an apology as well."

Athos raised a questioning eyebrow.

"I know you've been suffering, what with Milady's return… I should have been more attentive. I have to thank d'Artagnan for looking after you so well."

"Looking after me?" Athos asked disbelievingly.

d'Artagnan simply gave a sheepish smile.

And then Athos pushed away from the wall, joining the rest of them at Porthos' bedside. He sighed heavily before speaking. "I think we all owe each other apologies. None of us have been much of a friend of late, save perhaps d'Artagnan. But it shouldn't have fallen on him to keep us from falling apart. For what it's worth: I'm sorry. The bottle has had a tight hold on me, and I let our friendship slip. Never again."

Perhaps Athos would never let the dam break and pour out his heart on the matter of Milady. This fragile apology and promise might be all he would offer them... It would be enough.

It broke Aramis' heart to think how the Inseparables had almost became separated. But here in this moment he had managed to pull the threads of their lives together again. The small tears and frayed ends of their friendship could be fixed. And as ever, he held the needle.

"How's the leg?" Porthos' tired voice drifted over.

"Probably hurting about as much as your arm." Aramis echoed his earlier words and managed a grin.

"You shouldn't be on it…" Porthos' eyes closed and his voice grew faint, "... we'll end up having to cut it off."

"I'll make a note to run if I see you with a blade."

"... like to see you… try…" Porthos fell asleep amid their banter.

Aramis smiled.

Nothing was beyond repair.

_But you've got the needle  
I guess that's the point in the end_


End file.
